


Truth In Hiding

by orphan_account



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Body Dysphoria, F/M, Gender Identity, M/M, Mute Link, Trans Male Character, Trans Sheik, Trans Zelda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7678633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Piled with responsibilities as her coronation grows near, Zelda temporarily discards her royal title and lives as Sheik in the dangerous Gerudo deserts. Withheld from chasing after her by Impa, Link strives to understand Zelda instead, and comes upon an eye-opening conclusion Zelda herself is still unable to accept.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth In Hiding

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very self-indulgent fic taking place in a timeline where Link refuses Zelda's offer to send him back in time. There will undoubtedly be inconsistencies in canon, etc., and for that I am sorry. I took a lot of liberties with Zelda/Sheik's powers; since s/he is the sage of light as well as a Sheikah rogue, I like combining both aspects of her/his personality, and plan on writing a fic tackling that concept exclusively sometime in the future.
> 
> Link is mute, and uses some kind of Hylian sign language. 
> 
> This fic will probably become the standard of my own post-OoT verse; if you'd like more fic please let me know. (:

The reception hall of the newly reconstructed Hyrule castle was bursting with music as dignitaries unwound after a long day of diplomacy. A few Gorons stood awkwardly in the corner while Zora duchesses batted their eyes at the Hylian guards stationed near the band, and a group of Gerudo women, draped in thin layers of sheer fabric, kept to themselves, ignoring the hostile gazes sent their way. In between the groups of foreigners, Hylian delegates and constituents jovially roamed the hall.

After a few mandatory hellos, Zelda shouldered the rest of the night's festivities onto her council members and sought Link, dressed in the traditional Hylian military uniform, across the room, where he was amiably listening to one of Ruto's long tangents. Once he caught Zelda's gaze and nodded in acknowledgment, Zelda sank to the shadows at the hall's perimeter and easily slipped away from the crowd. Outside, she shucked off her heels, hiked up her skirt, and ran barefoot to the stables across the guard training grounds, where she changed into a pair of breeches and a loose white shirt hidden behind Epona's wide flank.

“Good girl,” she murmured, patting Epona's mane. Epona whinnied and flicked her head in exasperation. Zelda laughed, folding her dress over the side of the stall. “We'll go riding tomorrow, alright?” she promised. Epona dropped her head and nudged at some hay with her nose.

It was dark, the entire castle staff congregated at the hall, and only a three flickering lanterns lit the stables. Zelda sensed Link before she saw him, the back of her right hand tingling faintly, and turned around.

The Hero of Time strode forward, took off his embroidered coat, and tossed it carelessly over Epona's stable door with Zelda's gown. His horse snorted into the front of his tunic and he laughed, blue eyes and decorative earrings glinting in the light of the lanterns.

Zelda looked away for a moment, taking a carrot out of a burlap sack hanging off the wall “She's getting bored,” she said, handing Link the treat. “Do you want to go riding tomorrow?”

Link narrowed his eyes at Zelda, lifting the carrot to Epona's mouth.

She frowned. “What?”

After Epona nuzzled his palm in thanks, he signed, “Are you alright?”

Zelda's shoulders tensed. “Of course. Why wouldn't I be?”

Link shrugged.

She pursed her lips and busied herself by pulling her hair back into a low bun. “I'm fine.”

Link reached forward and tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. Zelda crossed her arms self-consciously.

“You haven't been sleeping,” Link signed.

“How did you know that?” she asked indignantly. Their rooms were on opposite ends of the castle's uppermost corridor.

“You look tired.”

Zelda fed Epona another carrot. “Well, the castle reconstruction is over now. I'll be fine.”

Link firmly shook his head. “No. It's something else.”

Just as Zelda was about to formulate another excuse, Impa's voice carried over the training grounds toward the stables. “Princess?” Then, warmer, “Zelda?”

Zelda startled, quickly casting Epona's stable in darkness with the snap of her wrist. Epona's head bobbed down as she feigned sleep. Zelda pet her side as Link pressed his hand into Zelda's other palm: “What are you doing?”

Impa sighed. Zelda did not move until her mentor's footsteps receded. Then she recalled the shadows, and the lantern's flame returned.

Link was glaring at her now. Epona's tail flicked back and forth, sensing the tension. Zelda nervously reached for another carrot, only to find the burlap sack was empty.

Link suddenly opened the stable door. His coat fell to the grass as he lead Epona out.

“Link, I'm sorry,” Zelda insisted. She stood still, waiting for him to leave in anger. Instead, he took her hand and directed her to mount Epona. Once she had her hands fisted in Epona's mane, he saddled up behind her, his calloused hands tight around her waist. It was silent, save for the music from the dance hall echoing toward them.

Zelda looked over her shoulder. “Link?”

He only pressed against her back, hooked his chin over her shoulder, and grinned.

She turned back around and dug her heels into Epona's sides and the mare took off—away from the castle grounds and outside of Clock Town itself.

Zelda smiled at the wind of Hyrule Field. The stars unfurled above her, ten times brighter than the castle's chandeliers. Link was warm and solid behind her, and Epona's strong muscles undulated between her legs. She rode on without a destination in mind, enjoying the tall grass and wide sky. They galloped past Lon Lon, past Kakariko, past the other small villages dotting the vast expanse of land. Only until Epona became visibly worn did Zelda slow down and lead her to a small alcove in the forest, where a sturdy shack sat underneath the leaves.

She and Link dismantled into the soft grass and left Epona to graze. Zelda pressed her hand flat against the door of the shack; at her magic the lock clicked and allowed them entry. Once inside, candle flames awoke to her presence. There was just a small bed, table, and fireplace with a cauldron beside it for cooking and bathing. Link sat down in a rickety chair next to the table.

Zelda bent down to unlace her boots. “This used to belong to the Sheikah,” she said lowly, not wanting to disrupt the calm quiet. “It was where the rangers rested during patrols. Impa cleaned it out at the start of my training...” She opened a chest at the foot of the bed and smiled, pulling out a small dagger. “This was the first weapon she gave me. I forgot how small it was.”

She stood and whipped the knife around; it clashed with Link's brandished Hylian rapier, which had replaced the Master Sword. Zelda danced forward, backing Link against the wall. He smiled and lowered his weapon as she pinned him by his neck with her forearm. “You know you can't sneak up on me,” she reminded haughtily.

He rolled his eyes, as if to say “It was worth a try.” Zelda snorted. As she began to move away, Link placed a hand against her hip. She froze in place. His eyes softened from playful mirth to something gentler. Zelda appraised him: the man who had no qualms about sneaking out across the kingdom in the middle of the night, who had followed her to the end of the world and back, who had saved her country without complaint. He sacrificed his childhood and his life for her, and then refused her offer to give him the chance to regain what she'd stolen from him.

Epona huffed outside, and Zelda was startled out of her trance. She stepped away and set her dagger onto the table. “We should head back,” she said, not looking at Link. “This was irresponsible. They will send half the guards out looking for me.”

“Impa will stop them,” Link signed into her hand, knowing she wouldn't look up from the table.

Zelda was desperate for more paperwork, an argument in the court, a sudden bandit of thieves; anything to distract herself from her personal life. She shook her head. “I need to prepare for the coronation, I—”

Link did not answer. He took the blanket off of the bed and headed outside. Zelda paused before following.

Link laid out the blanket in the grass. Epona wandered into the trees, annoyed by his disturbance. He took off his boots and fell onto his back. Zelda sank down next to him.  
  
There was a breech in the trees where the sky shone brightly. Zelda forced herself to relax against Link's side. He began humming softly, and it reminded her of another time when they played music together, and she wasn't a queen but a boy hidden in the shadows. She was too tired to force herself to pull away by the time Link cupped her jaw with his hand and kissed her languidly. Afterward, he tucked her head underneath his chin, and she fell asleep to the sound of his breathing and the ghost of harp strings.

~

In her dream she was wearing a beautiful dress, getting fitted for her coronation while the handmaids gossiped about members of the court. Outside, birds were chirping.

“I hear Duchess Sylvia is convinced the Hero will marry her daughter, you know,” said the girl at the hem of Zelda's skirt.

Behind her, the other handmaid tightened her corset. “Don't say that in front of the princess!”

Zelda coughed, her lungs straining against the corset. “It's quite alright. I don't believe he even knows who she is.” Zelda reddened. “The Hero and I are just friends, anyway.”

The two girls glanced at each other. “Are you sure?” asked the one at her back.

“Of course,” Zelda said.

“My little brother is a stable boy. He says the Hero talks about you all of the time.”

Zelda frowned. “What?”

“A guard taught him how to sign like the commander, and one night he was eavesdropping on the knights' quarters.” The girl's eyes widened. “Which he was punished for, I assure you!”

Zelda couldn't care less. “Children will be children,” she dismissed. “What did Link say...?”

“Just that you're the prettiest woman he's ever known, I'm sure,” said the handmaid fixing her hem.

The other handmaid furrowed her brow. “But there was someone else he's fond of, too.”

“Who?” Zelda demanded.

“It was a man,” the older sister plowed on, catching Zelda's tone.

“No!” gasped the second girl.

“A man?” Zelda asked incredulously.

“He was an assassin. He controlled shadows. The Hero said he played music.”

Zelda's stomach twisted in knots upon realization.

Her handmaids suddenly jumped back in fright. “Your highness! Your eyes!”

Zelda whirled around to the mirror behind her and turned ashen. Her eyes were a bright Sheikah red and her dress had been replaced by her old blue wrappings.

Outside, the sky was swamped with black. The handmaids disappeared, and a crying, young Zelda appeared, long locks of hair tumbling from her headdress. “You ruined everything!” she yelled. “Link will never love you!”

“I don't want this,” Sheik insisted. “Change me back!”

The young Zelda morphed into Ganondorf. He took Sheik by the neck and lifted him up off of the ground. “You are scum,” he said. “You are a coward.”

Sheik choked, struggling against his grip.

Fire licked at Ganondorf's face, which began to melt. The castle crumbled around them. “You are disgusting. You are unfit to be queen.” He threw Sheik against the wall. “Run!” he bellowed. “Run!”

Zelda awoke in a sweat and rolled away from Link's hold. The grass was cold and dewy against her cheek. She sat up and wiped the tears off of her face, then walked inside of the cabin and pulled out an old Sheikah garb. The pants only reached her ankles, and the shirt was tight enough to compress her chest, but the sleeves couldn't afford her arms movement so she cut them off with her dagger. She threw a few supplies into a pack before leaving. She couldn't even look back at Link.

Epona approached her as she entered the trees, and neighed. Zelda quickly set a hand against her nose. “Shh, shh,” she soothed. “Stay with Link, Epona.” Epona snorted. Zelda set her jaw. “Stay with him,” she demanded again, though she knew Epona would never leave her true master. The thought made Zelda's heart seize—for all of Epona's sweet concern, once again she was only second best to someone else.

“I'll be alright,” she said, then snapped her fingers and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

~

Link knew something was wrong the moment he awoke and realized Zelda was gone. He checked the cabin and found emptied drawers left open. Zelda's outfit was discarded and the chest at the foot of the bed was pilfered, its contents in disarray on the floor.

Epona trotted toward him as he stepped outside and whinnied. Link nodded; he gathered Zelda's clothes, sheathed his rapier, and mounted Epona, who took off in the direction Zelda had fled. Behind them, the cabin's candles blew out and the door locked once more.

Link searched the forest and surrounding villages till midday. Not wanting to alarm anyone, he said he was looking for a young Hylian who ran away from home. No one had seen such a person. Defeated yet unsurprised, Link returned to the castle.

If anyone could help him find Zelda it would be her mentor. Impa's office was sequestered to the rear of the castle and was more of a library filled with ancient Sheikah texts than a study. She spent a third of her time there, a third at Kakariko, and a third attending to her sage duties. Link stormed in without knocking. Impa looked up from her desk in surprise, and a knight she'd been talking to quickly bowed and left the scene.

“Link,” she greeted with signs. She was the only one who signed to him instead of speaking. Though he was mute, not deaf, it still honored Link: the silence was companionable, and made him feel less out of place among the speaking. He forced himself to sit down in front of her desk.

Impa smirked. “I see you have returned from your trip.”

“Zelda was upset,” he defended.

Impa turned grim, her mouth flattening to a thin line. She sighed. “I know.”

“We went to an old Sheikah hideout. She left once I fell asleep. I cannot find her.”

Impa ruminated this, shuffling papers. Finally, she looked back up at Link. “Give her space. Leave her be.”

Enraged, Link stood and and glared at her, his hands fisted at his sides.

Impa sharply lifted her hand and said, “Enough.”

Link took in a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair.

Impa returned to signing. “She refuses to speak to anyone about what has been troubling her. If we send out a search party, she'll just distance herself more.” Link moved to reply, but Impa continued: “She is a formidable warrior. Ganondorf is gone; so are his monsters and demons. She can handle any threat, and won't leave her people for very long; we'll say she had some sudden business to take care of and give her a week or two. Ruto can be an alibi—spending time under a lake is as good an excuse as any for Zelda's absence.”

Link scowled and miserably fell back into his chair. Impa's eyes softened and she rounded her desk to set a hand on his shoulder. “Worry not, boy.” Instead of using her voice as leverage, it took on a more soothing tone, now. “Zelda trusts you more than even I. If you cannot help her only she, herself, may.”

Link harrumphed, dropping his head into his hands. Impa patted him before walking to a bookcase. “Have you noticed anything particularly different about Zelda, lately?”

He looked up confusedly.

Impa cleared her throat. “She's been irritable. Of course, reconstruction has been stressful, but I'd imagine with her coronation coming up soon she'd be elated, not the opposite. I know she loves her kingdom. She is a good ruler. And yet...”

Impa ran her fingertips over a few books before pulling out a specific volume, purple with the Sheikah symbol on the front. She smiled at it fondly and returned to her desk. Link scowled. As much as he loved the woman, Impa's roundabout methods of communicating her thoughts were tiresome. He wondered how Zelda survived seven years under her tutelage.

Impa opened the book. “When Zelda was young she loved dressing up, but once her mother passed she grew to despise it. It didn't help that her father forced her to keep up royal appearances. In this regard, Ganondorf's arrival was an escape. Zelda was so happy to live as a Sheikah.” Impa met Link's eyes, and his heart swelled with bittersweet memories of Sheik. “Sometimes, during training, she'd forget about the gravity of the situation and lose herself in her lessons.”

Link smiled at the thought of a determined, pubescent Zelda learning how to throw darts and smoke bombs—the image was the complete opposite of the smooth agility honed by Sheik he had grown to admire.

Impa set the book onto her desk.“It was only until I first sent her on a mission when she recognized the reality of what was happening. Her first slain monster... When she came home, she shed what was left of her old self, and became Sheik. She no longer responded to her former name.” Impa pushed the book toward Link. “Perhaps returning to the role of a princess has impacted her more than she's let on.”

Link swallowed, ashamed. He'd respected Zelda's boundaries so much he simply pretended nothing was wrong. “I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn't,” Impa scoffed. “Men are stupid. Especially you and Zelda.”

By the time Link understood the meaning of her strange comment, she'd already left.

~

Three days passed. The princess kept to the outskirts of Hyrule, near the shantytowns bordering the desert. She cloaked herself in white to reflect the sun and began referring to herself as male. When she pulled her scarf up and her hood down all one could see was her red eyes and the dark kohl surrounding them. She disposed of mediocre bandits and collected bounty, edging toward the higher crime lords and their rings which the Gerudo diplomats had mentioned during their visitation. When one man asked for her name, the response was natural and automatic.

~

As knight commander, Link spent his days training young boys and girls; by dusk he retired to his room and studied the text Impa gave him. Though he could read with minor difficulty, he was not supremely literate, and it took time for him to understand the convoluted information. Impa, of course, was of no help. Some of the knights gave him strange looks at his sudden sparsity, but said nothing.

He requested his meals to be delivered to his room. Three nights after Zelda's disappearance, he'd been given an extra slice of pie. Link ate it solemnly a while later, perched in his window, the Sheikah book open in his lap. As the room lightened he looked up and realized it was morning. He wondered if Zelda, too, was watching the same sunrise.

~

On day five Sheik found himself perched atop the barricade of a sizable fortress, for once thankful for the abhorrent lessons in foreign language of his youth. Beside him were two young Gerudo girls. They'd tailed him all throughout his visit to the previous town and admitted they needed help to scrape some money together for their own home village, and he agreed to help them in their own native tongue. Commerce was sparse in the desert; not many people wanted to trade within the home of Ganondorf. Sheik’s fluency rested any suspicions his blond hair might have brought.

The fortress was easy enough to intercept. The two Gerudo girls could pull their own weight, and though the rogues inside had amassed a large human trafficking ring, their lackeys were surprisingly incompetent. Their leader, however, was quick and clever. Sheik stabbed him in the shoulder so as to dodge his heart, and, assuming he was incapacitated, briefly slowed—and the leader sliced a gash in his side. The Gerudo girls vaulted forward: one buried a blade into the man's throat and the other gathered Sheik into her arms, but it was too late and blood was pouring out of his wound.

Sheik felt his heart rate spluttering, then nothing at all.

~

Link was pacing in the Kakariko graveyard as Impa recited a Sheikah prayer, some strange heirloom laid in runes at her feet.

“It's almost been a week,” he signed.

“I'm aware,” Impa replied, not ceasing in her recitation.

Link groaned and kicked at a rock.

“Have some respect for the dead,” Impa admonished. “If she's gone for another seven days, then I will be worried.”

Impa finished her ceremony. The cursed artifact she found suddenly cracked with a piercing screech. Link flinched. The spirit rose to the sky, now freed. Impa burnt the artifact with a black fire.

“I've been reading,” Link said.

Impa lifted her chin. “Good.”

They said nothing more.

~

Sheik instantly felt nauseous upon awaking. A cool rag was placed onto his forehead. He thought of Link, but when he opened his eyes he was met with dark skin and red hair.

“You're safe,” the girl said. She was the older sister, seventeen or so. Her name was Zareen. Her younger sister was Zaahira. Sheik did not know if they were actually related; all the Gerudo referred to each other as family.

He attempted to sit up and was pushed back down by a brown hand. “Relax. Your wound is still healing.” Zareen's eyes sharpened. “Princess.”

Sheik's mouth gaped. He looked down and saw that he was only wearing undergarments. His skin was lighter, his chest larger, and feminine body fat repositioned; the alteration magic must have ceased while he was unconscious. His right hand glowed slightly.

“The Triforce is helping you heal. You will be fine by the morning,” Zareen said. “I have not told Zaahira about your true identity.”

Sheik grimaced. Zareen leaned back in her chair while Sheik took in his surroundings. He was in a dark room with clay walls and a single slit of a window near the ceiling. His lips were chapped and dry. The architecture and parched, hot air was unmistakable. Zareen had taken him back to a Gerudo village.

Zareen crossed her arms. “It is not my business, so I'm not going to ask about why you are here or why you changed your appearance. I'd just like to know what you want to be called.”

The heavy ball of dread lightened in Sheik's chest. He licked his lips. As he spoke his voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

Zareen sniffed. “Hylians are so close-minded. How do you think the Gerudo race came to be, if we could only reproduce with outsiders, and not one another?”

Sheik shook his head. “I thought—”

“You are handsome and strong, but many others of your race are not. Hylians do not have the grit to survive in the desert. Those myths are just stories created by rapists.”

Sheik stared at the ceiling. “I am sorry.”

“You are not to blame for others' stupidity.” Zareen continued, “The Gerudo have two sexes, but we are all women. Your body means nothing to me. Do you—”

“I'd like to be alone,” Sheik said abruptly, unwilling to hear Zareen's question. “Please,” he added.

Zareen stood. “Of course.” She handed Sheik a glass of water.

“Thank you,” Sheik said.

Zareen glanced over her shoulder. “You're welcome.”

The next morning Sheik emerged from the room and was immediately tackled by Zaahira. He patted her back and smiled at her concern. After fretting over him for a bit, the younger girl pulled away and beamed. “You look so great in our clothing!”

He blushed. Zareen had gotten him a Gerudo cloak, as his old outfit was tattered beyond repair. It included loose trousers which gathered at his ankles, a tank top, and long shawl. It was not as fitting as he preferred his Sheikah clothes to be, but it mitigated some of the heat and humidity.

Zareen walked in and dropped a large sack of rupees onto the table. “Collected our bounty, boss,” she smirked.

Zaahira gasped at the amount. It was probably more money than she had ever seen. Her childish excitement was off-putting—Sheik saw her gouge a man's eye out the day before. He supposed this was the nature of the Gerudo.

“I should leave,” he said.

Zaahira pouted. Zareen was unperturbed.

“Why?” Zaahira whined. “You're not even better!” She pressed her hand flush against Sheik's forehead.

“He was injured, not ill, sister,” Zareen reminded. She gently took Zaahira's hand away, then leveled her gaze at Sheik. “At least allow us to escort you out of the desert.”

Her shoulders were stiffly drawn back. Sheik suddenly thought of his younger, wartime self; how strong he tried to be, how scared he really was. Now he just felt tired, worn beyond his age, trapped in the confines of monarchist duty.

He nodded his consent. “That would be lovely.”

“Yay!” Zaahira cheered. Zareen bit her lip to hide a grin.

Once they turned away to sort the bounty, Sheik's shoulders fell.

The two sisters insisted on splitting the bounty in half with him, despite his protestations. Once they reached the markets, Zaahira purchased a jeweled necklace and Zareen looked over a selection of blades. Sheik left to find a camel vendor, using all of his rupees to buy three. Zareen paled when he returned; Zaahira squealed.

“You did not have to do this,” Zareen said. “The money was for yourself.”

“I have more than enough,” Sheik replied. Zareen's eyes widened at his reference to his royal title.

“What are you going to name yours?” Zaahira asked her sister.

Zareen hesitantly reached out to pet her camel. “Zelda.”

Zaahira frowned. “After the princess of Hyrule?”

Zareen shrugged. “It was the first name that came to mind.” She winked at Sheik, who grinned under his red Gerudo scarf.

Unbeknownst to the triad, a shadowed figure, who had been watching them from an alleyway, narrowed his eyes. He beckoned two lackeys to follow, and the group trailed Sheik and the sisters through the desert. Once they reached a low, barren valley encompassed by cliffs on either side, the assassins launched an attack.

Sheik cloaked himself and the sisters in blinding desert light which reflected off the sand, urging their camels onward. Arrows rained down from above, and a lucky shot pierced the leg of Zareen’s camel; the crying beast stumbled and fell, taking Zaahira with it. Sheik abandoned his own camel to aid the girls.

Three tall men emerged from the light. Sheik pulled Zareen out from under her camel. Zaahira took her injured sister into her arms.

Sheik stiffened defensively; he had enough energy to confuse the men and flee, but wouldn’t be able to protect the girls as well.

“It’s over,” said one of the men.

Suddenly, another group of men vaulted from a ledge in the cliff wall. Sheik whirled around and tossed poison darts before his arms were held and bound from behind.

“I told ya,” said his captor.

~

Link closed the book with an exhausted finality and dropped backwards onto his bed. Outside of his door, a servant placed his tray onto the floor. He stood to retrieve it, simultaneously enlightened and burdened with the new insight to Zelda's predicament.

Three slices of cake, now. Link raised his eyebrows. Did he really seem that distressed?

Just as he was about to eat, Impa entered his room. “Get up!” she shouted.

He did so, heart racing. “What is it?”

“Sheik has been found.”

Impa threw Link his armor and sword. As he dressed his mind whirled with awful scenarios. Had Sheik been killed? Wouldn't Impa tell him that outright? He froze in place as he finished lacing his boots. Wait—

Impa took his arm and wrenched him down the hallway. “He was in the desert, traveling with two Gerudos. A band of assassins attacked them. He killed the ring leader.” Impa punched a statue as they passed it. “For the love of Hylia!” The statue's head broke off and flew across the hallway.

Link's throat seized with sound. “Where is she now?”

Impa's lip curled. “He was last seen in a marketplace.” She scowled at Link's worried look. “Only we know about this. As far as anyone else is concerned, a Hylian man dressed as a Gerudo was suddenly attacked in broad daylight. That is all.”

Impa ran to her office and Link had no choice but to follow. She pressed something underneath her desk, and a bookcase behind her chair swung open, revealing a low corridor.

“Follow me,” she curtly ordered, picking up a torch. Link jogged down the steps in shock. They traversed through a series of tunnels until entering a room lined with swirling black portals.

Impa took his hand. “Stay by my side.”

Link nodded, his other hand tight on the hilt of his sword. He wished he had the weight of the Master Sword with him: they needed all the Goddesses' blessings right now.

As Impa lead him through a shadow portal, he steeled himself for whatever lay ahead, promising to himself and the Goddesses that he would return with his beloved or not return at all.

~

The cart rattled with what Sheik assumed was the rocks of a craggy cliff. He was pressed against the back board, the high winds howling around him, blindfolded and gagged. Something wound around his wrists was draining his magic; he kept still and silent, pouring all of his energy into retaining his alteration—if he was discovered, the situation would only worsen. Sweat collected on his brow.

An assassin was seated beside him, whittling wood. Zaahira and Zareen were somewhere behind them in another caravan. Sheik's mouth was cottony with dehydration; his tongue felt engorged. A dizzy spell suddenly overcame him and his breath hitched.

The assassin snickered. “Alright there?”

He pressed his blade against Sheik's jugular and Sheik's skin crawled, but he was too exhausted to retort.

The assassin return to whittling. “Our boss is probably gonna cut your cock off for killing his right hand man.”

“Oi,” someone called from the front of the cart, “don't talk to the bastard.”

“Aw, c'mon.” A large hand squeezed Sheik's thigh. Sheik repressed a shudder.

“Wait till we get back to base and figure out what we're gonna do with him.”

The assassin scoffed and pulled away. Sheik turned and pressed his head against the wall of the cart, a migraine beginning to stab between his temples. He willed his thoughts to center, and felt all the shadows and light surrounding him unfold in his mind's eye. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck as he swept through pinpoints of light—lives amidst all the dark nothing. Zareen and Zaahira were still alive, tinged dusty red. Far away, one spot was particularly brighter than all the others, and Sheik's heart seized as the back of his right hand tingled. It was Link, and beside him Impa in a mass of shadows. They were both fast approaching.

He flattened his back against the cart and felt pebbles and dust kick up to the back of his neck. The assassin next to him snorted. “Antsy, are you?”

Sheik pitched himself over the back of the cart, rolled, then rose in a cloud of sand. The assassin shouted as Sheik heard Epona whine from afar. He whirled toward her cry and wielded the last of his energy to break the bindings around his wrists. His blindfold fell from his bluing eyes as his hair lightened to a sunny blonde, and he careened forward.

Impa raced to the caravan while Link tumbled from Epona's saddle and caught Zelda in his lap. He ripped out her gag, hefted her onto Epona's back, and circled one arm around her waist, his other hand taking Epona's reins.

“No,” Zelda panted. “No, Link.”

Epona pivoted sharply. Zelda jostled in Link's hold and clenched her teeth, the Triforce pulsing underneath her skin. Her eyelids drooped and she fell to half-consciousness, everything in her peripheral reduced to light and shadow. Behind them, Impa raged dark as night, swarming the caravans with black magic, while Link's heartbeat thudded dutifully against Zelda's ear.

~

She awoke all at once the next morning in her castle chambers, eyes snapping open and lungs locking mid-breath. Link's wide hand pressed against her sternum immediately, and she relaxed under his touch. His hair, bereft of its scheduled cut, curtained his face shortly as he leaned over her bedside, and bags shadowed his eyes.

Zelda glanced down at herself. She was covered in a thin sheet, dressed in coarse bedclothes. Her Gerudo outfit was folded neatly on a marble table, splattered with camel blood.

“The girls,” she managed with her dry throat.

Link's eyes crinkled. “Safe.” He patted her hand, rose, and returned with a glass of water. Zelda sat up despite her protesting muscles and drank greedily, the water spilling down her chest. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then paused and stared at her skin. The Triforce blared dutifully; Zelda blinked hurriedly as her skin tanned and chest flattened, and forced the magic to halt.

Link touched her shoulder; she turned her head without looking up, her untied hair hanging over her shoulders. “Go on,” he signed.

Zelda said nothing.

“I've been reading—There were female Sheikah warriors who lived as men. They took on male names. They used alteration magic...”

“I am not going to talk about this,” Zelda declared, nostrils flaring. She threw off her blanket and stood. Link leveled her gaze resolutely.

Before either could say more, Impa entered the room.

“Take one more step away from that bed and I’ll put you under arrest,” Impa threatened. Zelda sat, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at her mentor’s irritation even after all these years.

Link glanced between the two, then moved to leave. Impa lifted her hand. “You, too. Stay.”

He sank beside Zelda, shoulders drooped. Zelda suddenly realized how exhausted he looked, and placed a hand against the small of his back.

Impa regained Zelda’s attention as she began pacing the rug. “I thought you were an adult. I gave you space and time, thinking you were responsible enough to keep yourself safe. Only to learn you’re infiltrating entire trafficking rings, and endangering two young girls as well.”

“I had found a lead—”

“You are not invincible! It was foolish to go alone. What do you have to prove?”

Zelda narrowed her eyes. “Nothing.”

“Liar! I raised you, child.” Impa softened. “You can hide nothing from me.”

A knot formed in Zelda’s throat. She stared at her lap. “And what do you know?”

“Say it yourself,” Impa encouraged.

“Why?” Zelda demanded. “To entertain some game of pretend?” Tears finally filled her eyes, and she ripped away from Link’s side to stand at the window overlooking the castle grounds. “I am going to become a queen.”

“A compassionate ruler, regardless of title,” Impa amended.

“The court will die of offense.”

“Good riddance.”

“It’s entirely undiplomatic.”

“As are Ruto’s nightly excursions.”

Zelda turned back around and crossed her arms. “It is against my entire lineage.”

“We all sacrificed tradition and formality the moment the war started,” Impa reminded. She gestured to Link. “He left his village. You left your kingdom. And the nation survived because of it.”

“The war is over. Tradition and formality will come back. My people need stability and familiarity,” Zelda emphasized.

“And if it is at the sacrifice of your own well-being, you’ll only grow more miserable and erratic. You aren’t even queen yet, and you’ve already run away.”

Zelda looked to Link imploringly. He smiled sadly, but remained silent.

“I need to think about this,” Zelda murmured.

Impa nodded. “Take care.”

Zelda sagged against the windowsill once Impa was gone, the glass cool against her back.

Link moved to join her. Dressed in standard attire, he looked less formidable and more tired than ever. Zelda knocked her shoulder against his. “I could have used some help, just then.”

Link shrugged, grinned tightly, then looked out onto the grounds.

Zelda frowned. “You’re mad at me. Are you? You have every right, Link.”

He sighed. “Do you not trust me?”

“I trust you with my life!” Zelda assured.

“Then why hide your pain?”

Zelda looked away. “I have more important matters to attend to.”

Link forced her to turn back toward him. “I am not a member of the court. I am your friend.”

“I know...”

“I never forgot Sheik. I loved him.”

“Stop it,” Zelda hissed. “He is gone. There’s no need for him anymore.”

“I need him. I need you.” Link blinked hurriedly, unable to mask his surge of emotion. “You’re disappearing into your isolation. If being Sheik makes you happy, I am happy.”

Zelda grit her teeth, remembering the nightmare which caused all of this, bottom lip trembling. A sob wracked her chest, and she began crying earnestly, releasing years of pent up fear and frustration. Link guided her to the floor, and they sat together underneath the window while she cried.

Once she recovered, Zelda breathed slowly into Link’s chest. She felt lighter, unburdened, and lifted her head.

“Can I show you?” she asked.

Link nodded.

Zelda stood and removed her bedclothes, then her undergarments. The refracted sunlight dappled across her moderately sized breasts, toned stomach, and golden curls of pubic hair. Link had seen her naked before, but never as intimately as this. She watched him at her feet, his chest heaving imperceptibly with controlled breaths.

Her body didn’t disgust her, but it felt too fragile, inadequate. She wanted more, needed something different to feel whole. This was the costume of a princess, stretched from the form of a young girl she discarded even before the war. This was not her true self, candid and honest, but another front up for show.

She locked eyes with Link as the Triforce began glowing on the back of her right hand. He swallowed as her shoulders broadened, hips narrowed, vocal cords grew, and breast tissue shrank. Lean muscle replaced soft fat on her arms and thighs and waist. Her clitoris grew and protruded from its hood. Magic alone could not completely transform her body; her chest was not totally flat and she could not grow a whole penis and scrotum, but for all intents and purposes she was strong and masculine, decidedly un-female if not entirely male.

“Come here,” Sheik said.

Link rose and stood before him, eyes trailing up and down his changed body. Sheik took his hand and placed it on the knob in his neck, then guided Link down to his chest, abs, and sex. Link ran his thumb along Sheik’s small penis, then palmed his buttocks and thigh...

No matter his final decision, title, or the reaction of the populace, Sheik knew now he could allow himself to retreat within Link’s trustful hold.

Link smiled brightly, told Sheik to wait, and left the room, then returned with clothes folded over his arm.

Sheik blushed, apprehensive, but with Link’s easygoing encouragement, eventually forced himself to don the outfit. Link stood behind him as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, wearing a regal tunic and black slacks which bunched above his bare feet. The formality was still overwhelming, but less so than the ornate gowns Sheik usually wore. Link retrieved his tiara from its glass case and set it atop his head.

“Finished,” Link said.

Sheik turned from side to side. He looked simpler, modest. A wise ruler instead of a caricature.

“Thank you,” he said to Link, and kissed him softly.


End file.
